El Alma del Tango
by Kiarene
Summary: No other dance connects two people more closely than the tango. SanadaAtobe. Complete
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** _El Alma del Tango_

**Author** Kiarene  
**Pairings:** Sanada / Atobe

**Rating:** G  
**Summary:** No other dance connects two people more closely than the tango.

**Published:** 9th August 2005  
**Disclaimer**I would love to own Atobe-sama… and gang… but I don't.

**A/N: **_el alma__del__ tango _— the soul of the tango. From Sanda's point of view.

**_El Alma del Tango_**

**1st Dance**

I didn't think much about him at first. In fact, I daresay I didn't think much of him.

Of course I'd heard of Atobe, one of the rising stars on the school tennis circuit. But he was in Hyotei and I was in Rikkaidai, and I was preoccupied with rising within Rikkadai's highly competitive tennis club. After I had established myself firmly as a regular, I started noticing the top players from rival schools: Tezuka Kunimitsu, Sengoku Kiyosumi, Oshitari Yuushi, Fuji Sysuuke; the list was long.

And of course, Atobe Keigo. But he was just a name then.

The first time our paths crossed, we were in our second year and it was during the Junior Senbatsu camp.

---

I stood in the middle of the empty room that was to be mine for the next two weeks. Well, mine and my roommate. Who wasn't here yet. Hn, I might as well settle in first and bag the better bed.

I examined the two beds carefully and noted that the one on the right appears to have a slightly firmer mattress. Also, a glance at the window told me that the morning sun would end up on the left bed. Smirking slightly, I hoisted my bag and was just about to turn to the right bed when the door opened.

Atobe stepped in, one hand on his hip as he surveyed the room critically. His other hand clutched an expensive gray leather bag, trimmed in silver with his name stitched on the corner.

I almost smirked, knowing that the small, plain room wasn't anywhere near the luxury the rich brat was used to. Oh, I knew that much about my roommate at least. I heard that he was filthy rich. As he sniffed at the room disdainfully, I knew he was dreadfully spoilt as well. Great, just what I needed.

I knew that the boy in front of me was the vice-captain of Hyotei. I also heard that he was the best tennis player in Hyotei, better even than the captain, and that the only reason he was not a captain was because he was still a second year. That was surprising — I would have been ready to write him off as one who had some talent in tennis but definitely no prodigy, but I also knew about Hyotei's tennis club. It was huge, some two hundred members, and the competition within was extremely keen. Wealth or connections had no advantage within such a meritocratic club.

Two hundred members. We didn't even have half that number in Rikkadai's tennis club. I wondered how Atobe would fare when he became captain.

Physically, Atobe wasn't too impressive. He was of average height and slender, almost skinny. A pretty boy, delicate in appearance. I sternly reminded myself of Yukimura, whose fragile appearance belied his sheer genius in tennis.

Well, I would finally get to see if Atobe Keigo was fully deserving of his reputation.

"Ohayo, Sanada," Atobe drawled. His voice was husky and sure.

"Atobe," I nodded.

Most people would have been fazed by my curtness, but Atobe merely raised a brow and turned and sat down daintily on the bed I had been eyeing, dropping his bag onto the floor.

"I was going to take that bed," I said, annoyed that it sounded childish.

"But you hadn't. And besides, I always prefer to sleep on the right." Atobe smirked, knowing that I knew it did. "Is this all right?"

When I had — somewhat — reined in my initial response to scream, I sat down on the left bed. My jaw remained gritted because otherwise I might just say something too nasty to retract later. The mattress felt saggy and I stared at the boy on the other bed in irritation. It was going to be a long, long camp, I could tell. Why couldn't I have been placed with Yukimura or even Kirihara instead?

I was cheered up by the thought that there was no way the rich brat was going to survive such a camp though.

---

I was wrong though. Atobe surprised me then. Annoyed me, no, he positively infuriated me. But I also wondered how someone so conceited and arrogant could be so talented — I thought it wasn't fair, until I saw him train. He strutted and boasted, but his boasts weren't empty. On the courts, he blew his opponents away. I was always impressed, until he opened his mouth again, sprouting something about being awed by his brilliance and prowess.

**---**

At the first meal, Atobe complained about the poor quality of food. What a brat, I thought, poking at my own mush. But then, instead of continually whining about it, he got up and went to speak to the coaches. Subsequent meals were much better and he became quite popular with the campers. I hate rich people with influence like that.

He complained about the poor quality soaps provided by the camp, about how drying they were, telling me that he has was glad he brought his own much higher quality toiletries, and just when I was about to turn to him and tell him to shut up, he turns to me and offers to share.

I don't understand him at all.

He's fussy and complains a lot, yet he doesn't whine. If he's not happy, he does something about it. He's utterly spoilt but he's also generous. I've seen the way he treats his teammates, not just with material goods but with his attention as well. The Hyotei players adored him, haughty airs and all.

The camp ended and we were both selected for the team. We trained together, with the rest of the team, but oddly enough, we had never played a match against each other. After the Invitational Match was over, he just gave me his usual smug smile and drawled, "Ja ne, Sanada."

Staring at his back as he sauntered away, tennis bag slung over his shoulder and surrounded by the Hyotei players, I thought it was a pity we never got the chance to play against each other.

"You will get a chance to play against him in the future," Yukimura's gentle voice startled me out of my thoughts.

"How did…"

"You have that challenging look in your eyes," Yukimura teased. "I know you."

"Aa." Hoisting my own bag onto my shoulder, I turned to leave with my own schoolmates.

**---**

But we never did get to play against each other. Oddly enough, despite the facts that we were never matched up on the courts, we ran into each other once in a while outside. I might see him across the street one day or we might exchange nods while browsing a bookstore. It turned out we have similar tastes in many things.

The exchange was almost always the same:

"Konnichiwa, Sanada."

"Atobe."

Then he would give me that bemused look and I would turn away. Slowly though, we started to talk more. At least he did.

"Never took you for a sweets person," he would say, pink tongue flicking out to shape his own cone of chocolate-pecan. "But then, I'm not surprised to see you chose vanilla."

"This brand of grip tape is good. I personally prefer Feux though; if you like, I can send you one the next time I order," he would tell me calmly, as if we are all rich enough to order custom equipment the way he does. "What color do you like? I think black or navy, am I right? You're such a practical person, Sanada."

Irritatingly enough, he was right about my color choices. But, so what if I was boring? A person who wears light purple shirts — with little ruffles — shouldn't judge me on my fashion sense!

"Latin music?" He would give me one of his accessing stares, then turn to riffle through the rack of CDs. "Yes, I'm not surprised. You are taciturn but you exhibit a lot of passion on the courts. Here, have you heard this group? No? Well, I think you would like this." And again, he was right.

Not that I ever told him, of course.

Not that he ever needed to be told, of course. Atobe Keigo redefined confidence.

I had heard about his famed 'Insight', and apparently that talent appeared to extend off the courts as well. I don't say much, and with him, I don't need to. He could read me with one glance. Slowly, I grew less irritated with his company — if I could put up with Kirihara, I could put up with Atobe. They grow on you, and then one day, you realize that the traits that irritate you at first only amuse you now, and really they're not so bad; at least they're not boring.

A year came and went; it was the second Junior Senbatsu Camp. He was rooming with me again because our schools again sent an odd number of participants. This time, I met him in the corridor outside our room. Fishing out my key, I opened the door.

Atobe walked in first, even though it was me who opened the door. "I want—"

"—the bed on the right, I know," I broke in. I'd learned that there exist forces of nature one cannot, cannot fight against. One was Yukimura, the other Atobe. Kirihara, on the other hand, was actually controllable. You've just got to feed him enough chocolate.

I dropped my bag on the other bed.

Atobe looked amused. "I was going to say I wanted a shower before going down for orientation activities… But it's good you know ore-sama's preferences."

It was going to be a long camp.

---

Somehow, the conversation turned to the party for Tezuka. Personally, I couldn't see what the fuss was about. So he got injured; he got sent to Germany to recover. Players get injured all the time. How many of us can get sent to a clinic overseas? Then he came back and all right, I can understand if Seigaku was happy. But…

The guys were even talking about singing a song for Tezuka, even Atobe.

"Sanada. You won't do it, I suppose?" Atobe turned, looking at me with that slight smile of his. I hadn't been participating in the conversation; I was surprised Atobe asked me. No, not asked. He assumed I won't do it—

"That's right. Sanada-san doesn't like things like karaoke at all," Kirihara piped up.

"I'll do it," I blurted out. For a split moment, I found myself as flabbergasted as Kirihara beside me. I don't even like Tezuka! Then I realized that for once, I wanted to prove Atobe's assumptions wrong.

"I can at least sing a song," I said stiffly. It had nothing to do with Sanada, I thought fiercely. Atobe looked at me, his smile widening.

That night, there were more dishes at dinner, and the dining hall was decorated with cheap paper chains and banners. I looked around in disgust. What was so special about Tezuka? He's the same age as us, just another middle school student. He was a good player, but Atobe beat him.

Yes, I watched the match. Some say Atobe would not have won if Tezuka wasn't injured, but to me, it showed that Tezuka wasn't able to play at Atobe's level without overstraining himself. And from what I heard, it wasn't his shoulder that was the old injury, it was his elbow.

Everyone was fawning over the new 'coach', even those initially skeptical, just because he showed his tennis skills were better. But simply beating everyone doesn't make one a coach; I felt the sudden urge to swing my racket and challenge Tezuka.

Even Atobe was pulled in by Tezuka. That irked me the most. Since Tezuka arrived, Atobe's attention was focused on the other boy.

"Tezuka, sorry for making you wait. Be awed by my beautiful voice," Atobe's voice pulled me out of my thoughts. Blinking, I focused on Atobe. Naturally he led the group, standing apart like a lead singer, and when he started, we took our cue from him.

I don't know why Atobe said he's not good at performing; he has a nice, husky voice, and more than that, he has a charismatic stage presence. I kept my eyes on him as we sang. Beside me, Oshitari shifted uncomfortably and kept his eyes down. Kirihara merely looked bemused. At least they weren't part of those worshipping at the altar of Tezuka.

The rest of the evening after that was a chore — the Seigaku regulars were especially slavish in their admiration of Tezuka, eyes all starry. As soon as Tezuka's speech was over, I got up and left, not caring if I seemed rude. I needed to work off some tension.

Atobe found me in the gym later that night pressing weights. Somehow, I was not surprised. "Hey, Sanada," he drawled. "I was thinking that this camp has been somewhat slow."

"I'm in the middle of training. I won't be your complaining partner," I told him rudely. "Please keep quiet."

"Oh?" As usual, Atobe was never offended by me. "Listen."

"However, that changed today." He looked contemplative.

Realizing there was no use ignoring Atobe, I sighed mentally. "Hmm? Because of Tezuka?"

"Yes, because he is the only one I call my true rival."

That statement irked me, and I sat up off the bench. "He might not think that way of you," I told him curtly.

Atobe chuckled. "You say that, but…" He trailed off, looking amused. "The truth is, you feel the same way I do, don't you?"

I stared at him. No I don't, I thought. But of course Atobe drew his own conclusion.

"Let's settle this once and for all, shall we?" He smiled back at me. "Play a match against me."

Is that what it would take your eyes off Tezuka, I wondered. I knew Atobe was hard-pressed to find players that truly challenged him; perhaps that was why he was fascinated with Tezuka.

And, I realized with anticipation, I had never played against Atobe before.

"Very well."

---

"I was the one who was destroyed Tezuka's shoulder," Atobe said suddenly. We were on our way to the courts.

"I know, I was watching."

Atobe went on, talking about how he initially only wanted to defeat Tezuka but in the end, ended up impressed by his dedication for his team. I was getting more and more irritated; he was playing against me now. Why was he still talking about Tezuka?

"I'm sorry. I don't know about your dreams of defeating Tezuka and all, but the strongest person stands at the top. That's all it is." I announced brusquely.

As usual, Atobe was nonplussed and just smiled.

I had wondered often what it would be like to play against Atobe. I found out that day. He was, to put it mildly, very good. A player to be feared.

We started easy but the pace rapidly climbed. Rarely have I found myself so hard-pressed. Out of the corner of my eyes, I could see that the other boys have gathered. I could hear their murmurs, like the mindless humming of bees in the hot sun. But my attention was wholly on Atobe.

And his attention was wholly on me.

It was exhilarating. Atobe was a graceful player. He was not particularly famed for his strength like Kabaji, or speed like Kamio; nor was he called a tennis prodigy like Fuji or Oshitari, but somehow he put it all together into a devastating package. No wonder he was Hyotei's top player.

He took the lead at first but I caught up. I could hear the mutterings around me about how Atobe couldn't win now that I had sealed his finishing technique. Not so, I knew. Even without his Rondo Towards Destruction, he was still a formidable player. Though he looked slender, his shots packed a hefty punch; his smashes could easily knock a racket from an opponent's hand. Moreover, he managed to keep up with my speed; not everyone could do that.

And just when I thought I was leading, Atobe revealed another trick up his sleeve. One that blew everyone away. A serve that was not only powerful and fast — I could dish out some high-speed serves myself — but one that just didn't seem to bounce.

Amazing.

I looked at the ball, which had rolled to a stop beside the fence. Then I turned back to Atobe, this time with renewed respect. The others were chattering excitedly. Atobe preened.

Before I could stir myself out of my stupor, Coach Sakaki stood up and stopped the game. And told us we made the cut for the Junior Senbatsu Team. We were shocked, pleasantly so because we didn't planned this, but it was good all the same. I was disappointed that we didn't finish the match, and yet, the anticipation of a future match was also pleasurable.

"We'll leave the conclusion of the match for a later time," I promised him. I found myself looking forward to it.

His eyes glinted. "Heh. It seems the number of people I must defeat before I defeat Tezuka has just increased by one."

"It is good to have many rivals, but don't forget there is only one winner." Who cared about Tezuka? I looked intently at him, and he stared back at me. Then he smiled.

Somehow, I was very pleased that his attention was now on me. You will notice only me, I thought. You can look at others, but you will only focus on me.

We shook hands, and I noticed how smooth and pale his hand looked, entwined with mine.

**---**

We next ran into each other at a tango concert a week later. I wasn't too surprised; I knew he liked Latin music. We passed each other in the lobby, still dressed in school uniforms as we came down directly after school. We didn't say anything, but our eyes met. Caught, held for a second as the crowd and noise faded around us. My skin tingled and he gave me that slight smile again.

Then we walked past each other and the moment was lost.

His seat was just diagonally behind mine, and throughout the performance, I was extremely aware of that. We didn't say anything and I didn't turn back to look at him. Not once. Yet the fine hairs on the back of my neck tingled and I could just pick out the faint spicy cologne he liked to wear. Most boys our age were not so vain, but this was Atobe. He even wore that cologne to a training camp and I could detect a faint trace in my bag and clothes after the camp.

The music played on and I thought about our unfinished match, the steady beat provided by our rackets as we rallied back and forth, the sharp look in his eyes and the way his lips curved up in genuine pleasure, and when the melody rose up in a crescendo, the way his torso arched as he leapt high and reached for a smash.

When the concert ended and I stood up, my head turned, eyes automatically seeking his. His eyes caught mine. But we didn't say anything and we walked away.

**---**

tbc


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:**_El Alma del Tango_

**Author:** Kiarene  
**Pairings:** Sanada / Atobe

**Rating:** G  
**Summary:** No other dance connects two people more closely than the tango.  
**Disclaimer: **I would love to own Atobe-sama… and gang… but I don't.

**A/N:** After a while, Sanada started to use his teammates' first names. It's to be expected; they have been friends for so many years. I've watched until episodes 178, so anything after that, I'm just using my imagination and having fun. This chapter opens while Sanada and Atobe are still in their last year in Middle School.

_**El Alma del Tango**_

**2nd Dance**

Something very fundamental changed between us during the Junior Senbatsu Match that year. We were always rivals, but for the first time, we were partners.

When we were told at the very last minute that we would be playing Doubles 2, my back stiffened. Not only were we, who normally play singles, now relegated to doubles, Doubles 2 was traditionally considered the weaker pair. I half-turned to Atobe, expecting him to kick up a fuss. However, he only looked at Coach Sakaki, mouth tight, and gave a nod of understanding.

I was flabbergasted. How could Atobe, of all people, not feel offended? Insulted?

"Looks like Sakaki wanted us to set the tone for this match," Atobe commented as we started warm-up, his tone careful. I exhaled angrily.

His brows dipped in a frown. "Understand this. I don't like this anymore than you do because I am a Singles 1 player. But I also understand that—"

And it hit me, shamefully.

"—this is the coach's decision," I finished for him. "That our team's victory comes first." He gave me a nod. We should always strive to do our best, no matter what we are asked to do.

"Because of this, we will win." I said matter-of-factly.

"Of course."

This was a team event, and while the traditional line-up was to send the weaker players first, that fails if the other team sends their strongest first. After all, the first team to secure three victories wins and it was sometimes useless to hold your ace players for last. Fudomine proved that against Hyotei during the district tournament. Ironically, many ace players in fact do not get a chance to play in tournaments because they were slated for Singles 1.

We took the lead initially. We knew the opponents were holding back; even so, a 4–0 lead was ridiculous. When they showed their power though, showed that they had been toying with us all the way as they evened the score, we were pissed. Especially Atobe. But he's not the kind to yell or do anything crass; he held it in admirably. Until I looked at his eyes and saw the hard tension there as the score climbed against us.

That was when he brought out the ace he had been saving, that astonishing serve. Everybody was stunned, including me.

The Tannhäuser serve.

This time, I got a better look at it. It was a brilliant technique. Fast, powerful, and with the way it skimmed the ground like Fuji's Tsubame Gaeshi, there was absolutely no way the other side could have returned it.

I turned to stare at him in awe. Atobe was frozen in his position, muscles straining and a look of absolute concentration on his face. He looked beautiful.

Something clicked during that game. I didn't do anything as Atobe worked hard to hold our service game. I could tell that the technique wasn't perfect yet and Atobe lost control of it a couple of times, but he held on. By the time he won that game, he was panting hard.

My respect for him climbed another notch. He pushed hard. I could do no less.

Even though he was noticeably more tired after that, he tried to hold up his end of the game. I looked at him, shoulders heaving slightly as he fought for breath, sweat running down his face, knowing he hadn't recovered fully from his service game. He was at his limit and I knew I had to cover for him, whether he liked it or not.

When I returned a ball he should have caught, he turned to me furiously. "That was my ball!"

"Right now, winning the game comes first. I'll listen to your complaints after we win."

I looked at him, subtly reminding him of what we spoke about just before the game. The tango music we enjoyed at the concert ran through my head, and for a moment, it brought me back to that day. We were alone, the crowd fading in the background and the only thing I noticed was Atobe.

I was curt, even rude. But then, Atobe capitulated graciously. His anger melted away as he chuckled. He may be a diva, loved basking in the limelight, but he never lost sight of the goal, never placed his own glory over his team's. He took a moment to think about what I said instead of blowing up, and he realized the importance of our teamwork. Something else clicked at that point.

We clicked.

From that moment on, the match swung back in our favor. As singles, I'm sure we could have won. But the other pair had experience as a doubles pair, while Atobe and I frequently clashed for the ball. Not literally, but there were tense occasions where we growled at each other for possession of the ball, blamed the other for losing a point. Thinking that if I had gotten it…

But no more.

We started to work together. I took a chance and ran up to the net for an advance guard formation. Atobe caught on quickly, Fumbling at first, but we rapidly aligned in sync. We had no previously arranged sign-plays or formation, but a quick nod or glance, and we knew when to run for the ball, when to give.

We may not have played doubles before but we have led our teams, we knew how doubles work. Our experience showed.

"When we line up like this, it reminds me of that day," Atobe commented during a lull in the game as we caught our breath.

No need to explain — I knew which day. The music swelled. "Heh. You're right."

He smiled.

Lee and I exchanged a series of rapid volley; one of my shots broke through. Cassidy caught it but it was a clumsy lob. Immediately, I knew Atobe would not miss such a chance. Even as I was turning, he was leaping into the air, graceful and poised for his famous finishing move.

It won't work, I thought frantically. Cassidy would be able to—

His eyes slid to mine for a split second but he continued in his motion. I scrambled behind him, ready to catch the counter volley from Cassidy. But watching Atobe, I noticed that his jump wasn't as high as it should be, not if he wished to smash…

And I knew what to do. He didn't mean for it to work.

All eyes were on him and when I leapt up behind him to take the ball, he lowered his racket. It was a brilliant feint. This is what double partners do, I thought. Not only do they cover each other, they also set up the shots for each other. Atobe, with the way he could read a game, was a good game-maker. And, it occurred to me, that somehow, while watching Atobe all these years, I have gotten used to his play; I could read him. Like a partner.

"Oy Sanada." Atobe smirked after that, the crowds cheering enthusiastically. "That music has been running through my head for a while now.

"Aa. Me too."

I knew how to tango; I'm sure Atobe does as well even if I had never asked him. It's just the sort of thing I expect he knew. And tango we did, carried by the music, as we took alternate shots in a four-beat rally. Once we caught the rhythm, we flowed.

At match point, when he leapt up again at a chance ball, I ran behind him, ready to cover for him again. Noting that he was serious about the smash this time — his racket arcing overhead with his usual power — I prepared for Cassidy's counter volley. And in a stroke of inspiration, I aimed my smash at Cassidy's grip — I had watched Atobe often enough to know how to do it.

Atobe didn't flinch as the ball sped past him, and catching the beat perfectly as Cassidy's racket clattered to the ground, he leapt up again for the finishing smash.

It was a moment of perfect harmony.

* * *

The Americans played a good game and we were pushed hard. Of course we didn't like to admit it. When the coaches and teammates congratulated us, he merely smirked, composed as usual. I was my disinterested self. Our teammates commented we were cold, but we knew it was our usual style.

When I thought about it later, I realized that no, it was not our usual style. Something changed. He grated on my nerves initially, while he probably thought me a bore at first. As I grew to understand him, I started to accept his quirks. I started to respect him as a rival.

But we never had to work together. Even if we were on the same team, what of it? Team members jockey among themselves for the coveted positions. And Atobe and I were always Singles players.

But that day, I started to respect him as my partner. When my Rikkadai team members approached me later to talk about the match, I found myself strangely reluctant to elaborate. It became something else we shared, something private.

* * *

"Atobe," I called.

End of the year, and school has just finished. The third years graduated and we were all now excited about going onto high school. The trees were bare, like the once bustling corridors and classrooms of the schools, waiting for the new year.

Atobe turned around, his bored expression melting into a pleased smile when he saw me. The weather was cold and he was wearing a — my eyes widened — a leopard print trench coat. I found myself smiling in amusement at the sight; it should have looked pretentious on anybody else but Atobe. Only Atobe.

"Sanada." He stopped and allowed me to catch up. "What are you doing here?"

I shrugged. "Nothing."

Atobe huffed lightly in laughter. "Are you bored already, with no tennis, no school?"

The wind blew, a frigid breath that heralded the entry of winter, and Atobe shivered, drawing his coat tightly around himself. "Are you cold?" I asked in concern. He looked so slender it was no wonder he felt the cold easily.

"It's nothing. If we start walking, I'll warm up."

"Aa. Headed for anywhere in particular?"

"Not really." Atobe turned down a side street and I followed, curious. His tone turned pensive. "Graduating from middle school got me… nostalgic, I guess. Just had the urge to walk past Hyotei one more time."

"You'll be back in Hyotei next year, won't you?"

"Yes, I'll be in Hyotei High School, but it's not the same campus." We slowed down as we neared Hyotei. "You'll go onto Rikkadai High School I presume?"

"Of course." I watched him as he came to a stop, hands in pockets as he stared towards the empty compound. The school gate was closed. "Any regrets?"

"No, of course not…" He trailed off. "Well…."

He was silent for a long time. "I should have been a better captain."

I startled at his whisper. It was the first time I had ever heard him insecure. "What?"

"Hyotei won last year… but this year, under my leadership, we were utterly humiliated at the District Tournaments and Kantou Finals. I know what the others say — we only made it to the Nationals because Hyotei hosted it."

"That's not true," I retorted immediately. "You were not playing in the District matches at all; I daresay that was your coach's fault for underestimating your opponents and sending in the reserve team."

"But—"

"Listen." I stepped in front of him and grabbed him by the lapels of his expensive coat. "Your team's performance in the Kantou Finals was good; unfortunately you had bad luck to go up against Seigaku in the first round. But your team played well and that is what's important. In fact, people still talk about the match between you and Tezuka and I daresay people will still be talking about it years from now. It was… definitive."

His eyes widened in shock at my words.

"Your team's performance in the Nationals was brilliant."

His mouth twisted in part pride, in part bitterness. "Yes they were good, weren't they? But we still lost to Seigaku in the finals…"

It was a very close fight, I remembered clearly. It could have easily gone either way.

"Everyone played beyond their limits in the Nationals; everyone surpassed themselves." I held his eyes, willing him to see what I myself took a long time to realize after the Nationals. "We were all winners."

Atobe swallowed, clearly wanting to believe me. "But compared to Tezuka, I—"

"It's not about Tezuka!" I yelled. Shocked, he fell silent.

"You know what I think?" I rarely lost my cool, but when I do, it was as if a floodgate opened. "I think you were a superlative captain. You know why?"

I leaned in, lowering my voice.

"It's easy to be a good leader when you're winning, but when you're losing, when morale is flagging and when your team is just one step from giving up — that's when a real captain shows his mettle. Tachibana did it when he pulled Fudomine back from last year's disgrace. And you did it when you rallied your team and your school, not once but twice. And each time, Hyotei came back much stronger. That is leadership."

Feeling a bit dramatic but not caring, I swept an arm out behind me to indicate his school. "When your team lost, did they ever doubt you? Did the school withdraw their support? Did your coach replace you?"

"No," Atobe breathed. His hands came up to wrap around mine, which were still fisted in his coat.

"Do you still doubt your leadership?"

"…No."

We stared at each other and slowly, I finally released my hands.

His lips curved up. "Thank you."

* * *

I got a text message from him on New Year's Day.

See you on the courts this year.

I smiled, knowing what he meant. Looking up at the fireworks, I wondered if Atobe was watching them too.

* * *

Surprisingly, or not, our paths started to cross more often. Schoolwork increased in high school and it was all too easy to lose contact with kouhai back in middle school, much less someone from another school, but we started to take the initiative to actively contact each other.

I knew Atobe liked to browse bookshops on Saturday mornings. He often found me Sunday evenings in the music shop near my house. I introduced him to the coffee that was sold in the café just next to that shop. He made it a point to email me about Latin music concerts. I would email him with details about classical music, another favorite of his. Initially, I didn't like classical music much but it grew on me.

We talked about finishing that match.

Atobe leaned back in his chair with a contemplative look. "We never got to finish our match, did we?"

I shook my head, knowing where this was going.

He nibbled daintily at the biscuit that accompanied his coffee. "Then, are you free this Sunday? We can meet at the street courts."

"I'm free. But the street courts are always packed on weekends," I pointed out.

He thought for a moment. "How about the community lot beside the rail tracks? The courts there are quite run-down and not many people like to go there."

"All right." I remembered that court; it was where I first played with Echizen. "Echizen… the first time I played against Echizen wasn't during the Kantou Finals but it was on that court. The Finals were postponed…."

I found myself telling Atobe about the match. About how I beat him but he bounced back scarcely a week later.

"Just like Echizen," Atobe gave a rueful laugh. "His talent is scary and I have no doubt he has not yet reached his full potential."

"I heard he's doing well in America," I murmured, a hint of envy in my voice. "He will probably debut as a pro as soon as he comes of age."

"I have no doubt about that as well." Atobe picked up his cup of coffee, swirling it thoughtfully before he took a sip. "And you?"

"Me?"

He looked at me over the rim of his cup. "Do you have plans for playing professionally as well?"

People have asked me that and I usually ignore them, leaving them to draw their own conclusions. But the quietness in Atobe's question tugged at me. "I… I admit I have dreams of turning pro, but plans… no. It's easy to say I want to play professionally, but there are a lot of other factors to consider."

Atobe blinked, gave me a slow smile. "You're very honest."

I looked at him shrewdly. "I think you understand what I mean very well."

Atobe set his empty cup down with a clink, his gaze turning wistful. "I would love to even have the chance to play professionally. But I cannot."

"Aa." While Atobe was probably one of the few in our age group most likely to succeed as a pro, after Echizen, he also was the only heir to the Atobe fortune. It was not easy.

No. It would not be easy. But he shouldn't give up before he even tried.

"However, the life of a professional athlete is short and your father will not retire for many more years." I tried to sound hopeful, but I also knew how familial ties could clip one's wings.

"Maybe." Atobe pursed his lips unhappily. "Do you think anyone else would turn pro?"

"From our age group you mean?"

"Yes."

I thought for a moment. "Akaya… Seigoku… Who else do you think would?"

"Tezuka," Atobe said softly.

I felt myself frown in irritation. Looking up, I noticed the overcast skies with a grunt. "Rainy season's coming."

Atobe gave me an odd look, but let my odd behavior go. Even I didn't know what came over me.

"You going anywhere after that?" Atobe asked amicably. After the rainy season in June dried up, it was a favorite time for Japanese to travel in July.

"Maybe somewhere cool to escape the summer, like Hokkaido. Tokyo is like a sauna in summer." I didn't sound too hopeful; I knew just about everybody else would have the same idea.

"Hokkaido's popular in summer," Atobe pointed out. "It will be very crowded."

"If I can't go, I can't go." I shrugged. I pushed my plate across to him; I'm not that fond of biscuits and I know he has a sweet tooth.

Atobe picked up my biscuit with a slight smile. "I've a cottage up in Hokkaido."

I raised a brow. I've heard about, and seen, Atobe's cottages. Tennis teams from rival schools have been invited to play with Hyotei at his cottages, and everyone was always fully pampered.

"I was supposed to go with some members from my team, but Gakuto and Jiroh can't make it. Why don't you invite a friend as well?"

"You're assuming I would go," I said flatly.

"Wouldn't you?" He grinned impishly at me. Damn his confidence. I knew I would — it was an irresistible offer and I had no other plans for Obon week.

"Invite Kirihara," Atobe told me. "And bring your rackets."

Somehow I'm not too surprised. Akaya would have been my first choice, considering the other people going on this trip. Atobe liked Akaya but was always indifferent towards Seiichi. And Akaya got along well with the Hyotei team; I've no doubt he would have fitted in well there.

"Anything else?" I asked dryly, feeling distinctly steam-rollered. A common feeling around Atobe.

Atobe stood up, draping his jacket over his shoulders with a stylish swirl. "Four o'clock on Sunday. Don't be late."

tbc


	3. Chapter 3

**Title:**_El Alma del Tango_

**Author:** Kiarene  
**Pairings:** Sanada / Atobe

**Rating:** G  
**Summary:** No other dance connects two people more closely than the tango.

**Published:** 22nd November 2005  
**Disclaimer: **I would love to own Atobe-sama… and gang… but I don't.

**A/N:** This is where the story deviates from canon.

_**El Alma del Tango**_

**3rd Dance**

It was overcast the Sunday of our match, but we both showed up. The sky was heavily overcast, the clouds thick and dirty gray. I knew it would rain, but the thought of calling the match off never occurred to me.

Sure enough, a while into the game, it started to drizzle. A light sprinkling that was initially refreshing in the heavy summer heat. We ignored it, played on.

When the score tied at 2–2, it abruptly started to pour.

"We can't play in this weather!" Atobe yelled from his side of the court. He straightened up, still clutching the tennis ball. The rain was coming down in fat drops now, faintly warm from the hot summer weather.

"I can!" I grumbled, wiped the rain from my face, but it was useless I know. Lowering my racket, I also ran for my bag and together, the two of us sprinted to take shelter under the rail tracks.

The rain pounded around us, the concrete above us muffling it to a steady, dull thrum. Atobe tried to squeeze the water from his jersey, but as he was still wearing it, he didn't get too far. His fine hair hung limply and the ends curled around his eyes. He looked like a bedraggled kitten, I thought, and chuckled.

Atobe scowled at me, almost pouting. "I didn't bring a spare shirt. And I'm cold."

"Neither did I. Take off your shirt and wring it." I took off my cap and started stripping.

"I'm cold," Atobe repeated, shivering. He eyed my just-wrung shirt. The lycra material was the type that dried quickly. "Give me your shirt."

"Wha… Oh all right," I rolled my eyes and handed him my shirt. Atobe quickly peeled off his shirt and passed it to me. I couldn't believe his gall. And I couldn't believe me too.

After he pulled on my drier shirt, I held out his, intending to pass the dripping shirt back to him. That spoiled brat actually looked at me expectantly. "Wring it for me."

"What?"

"Please?" He smiled charmingly. And without waiting for my answer — I knew he was sure I would do it — he turned and fished out his towel from his bag.

Sometimes it was just easier to indulge Atobe, rather than argue with him. Sighing, I wrung his shirt. "Anything else, sir?" I asked sarcastically. Of course it slid right over him.

"Yes. Dry my hair please," Atobe held out his towel expectantly.

"No." I had limits. Atobe frowned. "Here's your shirt back."

"I'm not taking off my shirt now; I'm freezing," Atobe said petulantly as he started drying his hair. My shirt was a little large on him and he looked a bit cute actually, even more like a kitten now.

"Your shirt?" Growling, I pulled on his shirt, but only because I was starting to feel cold. I was reminded of the other time he stole my shirt during the Junior Invitation Camp as well.

Of course his shirt was too small for me. It was taut across my shoulders but the material was slightly stretchy so it wasn't too uncomfortable. Looking down, I noticed Atobe's name stitched discretely on the left breast.

Atobe glanced at me. "You look good. Maybe you should keep my shirt."

I thought about wearing a Hyotei shirt. I thought about wearing Atobe's shirt. "All right. You can keep my shirt too." I wanted to add that he looked good in it as well.

I got out my own towel and started drying my hair. "Imagine what our teammates would say if we showed up for training in a rival school's jersey."

Atobe stared at me, and then laughed, bright as a bell. I stared at him and he waved his hand. "Nothing. You do realize that we haven't finished our match yet?"

I shrugged. "There's always another day."

Atobe rummaged through his bag, fished out a bar of chocolate and waved it at me. "Want some?"

I shook my head. We sat down on a large rock and watched the steady fall of rain, waiting for it to subside.

* * *

We had a good time in Hokkaido. Surprisingly, Akaya and I got along well with the other Hyotei players. Atobe taught us how to fish and Oshitari taught us how to cook them. I realized Ohtori had the most obvious crush on Shishido, who was either extremely oblivious or extremely cruel. But it was none of my business.

Of course we played tennis, but Atobe and I didn't finish our match. He didn't suggest it and I was oddly reluctant to do so. It was… private.

Atobe had a pool near the courts and as we trooped past it one particularly sweltering day, hot and sweaty after several games of tennis, rackets swinging lazily, we stopped and stared. The sun glinted off the water surface. The temptation was great.

Pool tennis was a lot harder than it seems.

Even though the pool was smaller, the sheer resistance of the water was stupendous. We played doubles because one person couldn't run far, even triples, and still missed many easy shots. With all the low shots and volleys useless, we ended up smashing most of the time. Akaya, that brat, kept yelling, "Dunk Smash!" or "Super Momoshiro Dunke Smash Special!"

"I will never be able to play against Momoshiro now," I told Akaya.

"I cannot believe the inelegance of his naming," Atobe complained, as we pulled ourselves out of the pool to flop on the tiles, panting. "But I guess we all can't have my brilliant wit." The rest of us rolled our eyes, but it was true. Atobe had the best names for his techniques, provocative and elegant.

"Atobe can christen our techniques next time," Oshitari said dryly.

"Will you be the next godfather of my technique-baby?" Shishido told Atobe with a straight face.

Atobe smirked, eyes lingering on Shishido's stomach suggestively. "I didn't know you were due." He glanced at Ohtori, who suddenly flushed red.

Shishido scowled when the others burst out laughing, and even I smiled. He tossed back his hair, which he started growing back. "I'm glad you're not partaking in this tasteless humor," he told Ohtori.

"Ah, n..no, of course not," Ohtori stammered. His eyes strayed briefly to Shishido's taut belly before snapping away, cheeks reddening again. Shishido didn't notice as he was too busy glaring at Atobe.

Atobe leaned towards me, sotto voce. "Shishido is quite a tease, prancing around Ohtori in that skimpy speedo."

"Look who's talking." Admittedly Atobe's speedo wasn't quite as skimpy as Shishido's, which were cut so low the dip of his hipbones could be seen.

"My fashion sense is perfect. Shishido's just slutty," Atobe said haughtily. I looked at his purple speedo; at least it didn't have ruffles. "And yours is boring."

"Hey, what are you two whispering about over there," Akaya yelled. His lips curved, pulling higher on one side of his mouth, an accessing glint in his eyes.

"Bucho stuff," Atobe said smoothly.

"Underlings like you wouldn't get it," I said without missing a beat. We glanced at each other in a moment of accord and smirked.

"You are both not captains," Oshitari pointed out.

"Once a bucho," I started.

"Always a bucho," Atobe rejoined. Everyone groaned.

* * *

We never got to play against each other the official matches that year, so after our first High School Nationals ended, I emailed Atobe.

Same place, Sunday, 4 o'clock.

Of course Atobe knew what I meant. When we met up, Atobe was sniffing slightly. "Are you sick?" I asked.

"No, just some dust in the air," Atobe said irritably. "Let's warm-up."

But mid-way through our first game, I could tell Atobe wasn't playing at his best. His movements were a little sluggish, his shots weaker. I lowered my racket. "Stop."

"Why?" Atobe strode up to the net angrily.

"Because you're obviously sick. You should be resting."

"I am not—" He sneezed.

"I do not want to play against you until you are completely well and at your best. Surely you can understand that," I prudently stepped away from the sick boy.

Atobe looked disgruntled, but he shrugged. "Another day then."

"I'll send you home."

"I'm not a girl, Sanada." Atobe said dryly. He packed away his racket and picked up his bag.

"Doesn't mean you have to be a girl." Truthfully, I was a little worried. Atobe didn't look too sick but you never know.

"My chauffer will pick me up," Atobe reminded me. He grinned. "But if you just wanted to be awed by my house, just say so."

I rolled my eyes, picked up my bag and followed him. The limousine that picked us up was impressive, his house even more so. He handed his bag automatically to the butler at the door and told the man to prepare some refreshments. He led the way upstairs to his room, pointing out parts of his house along the way. The library was a well-appointed room with plush carpeting and polished dark woods. I looked at the large tables in the library, wondering why a personal family library needed so many.

"The team comes over to study after school," Atobe told me, seeing the question in my eyes. I smiled a little at that, knowing Atobe's generosity.

"I've quite an extensive collection of books. Feel free to ask me if you should need any," Atobe said casually, running long fingers over lightly over the spines. There was a small stack of musical scores tucked in at the side of the shelf. I knew he played the piano but I've never heard him play. I wondered what his piano looked like.

"I personally have an interest in classical literature and languages. My father insists I study economics rigorously as well."

Many of the books were hard-covers, some leather-bound even, and the number of books truly was astounding. There were also current magazines and periodicals, neatly arranged by date. I was quite used to Atobe's extravagant display of wealth by now so I simply shrugged. "I'll remember that."

We left the library and went up to his room, or suite of rooms. The house was very quiet; and despite the servants around, it felt empty. I remembered Atobe telling me once about how he was an only child, and thought he must be rather lonely. No wonder he welcomed his adoring fans.

We entered the first room, which had a sofa and an expensive looking hi-fi. "The television and X-box are in the entertainment room," Atobe said loftily. Of course. And here I thought Atobe would be so crass as to have a complete entertainment system in his room.

In the adjoining room, I could see his bed, a huge monstrosity swathed in grays and purples. There were a few other closed doors; I guess they lead to his walk-in closet or bathroom or something. No wonder he always looked so put out during the Junior Invitational Camps.

"So, Sanada," Atobe teased. "Are you not awed by my room?"

"No." I sat down on the sofa. A maid came in quietly and left a tray of drinks and biscuits on the side-table.

Atobe picked up a remote, turning on the hi-fi. I recognized the album — we both bought a copy the last time we met up at the music shop. He sat down beside me. "Relax Sanada. Appreciate the music."

I looked at him, arms outstretched along the sofa and head tilted to one side, eyes closed, a slight smile on his lips. The album didn't sound as good on my own hi-fi back home.

"We never did get to finish our match," I said mildly, wondering what it would be like to reach out and run a finger along the long curve of Atobe's neck. Would he be ticklish?

"So we didn't," Atobe laughed softly, eyes still closed. "I'm beginning to think we're jinxed."

The music swelled around us; we had no more talk of tennis for a while as we let the fast-beat, yet sensual strains of tango wrap around us. It brought back memories.

"Atobe," I whispered. It was a crazy idea. Maybe I shouldn't say anything at all.

"This year, when we get onto the Senior Invitational team, let's play doubles."

"So sure we would make the cut." He turned to look at me, eyes heavily lidded and lips tugging up in a smile.

"Aren't you?"

Atobe laughed again. "Of course."

I hummed to the catchy music, wondering why Atobe hadn't answered my original question yet. Maybe it was better this way. I never play doubles, except that one time with Atobe. Atobe and I were singles players, our egos too big otherwise. It would never work…

"Are you free Friday nights for practice? No more winging it this time," Atobe nodded decisively.

"Aa."

* * *

We didn't speak further of finishing the match between us. Instead, we concentrated on building up a cohesive partnership. It was easier than we expected. I've watched Atobe for years in anticipation of the day where I would play against him; I knew his moves, his strengths, his weaknesses. Apparently, he knew me as well.

With his ability to read the game, Atobe works well in the baseline. With my speed, I like to play up close to the net. We worked on honing the speed of his volleys and having seen the advantage of a good serve, we worked on increasing the speed and power of my serve. Of course we didn't have to — doubles partners covered for each other's weakness — but we recognized a good training opportunity when we saw it. How often does one get to train with the top player from rival schools?

He had, of course, improved his Tannhäuser serve. His control of the ball had tightened; it now went exactly where he wanted it to go, and he no longer tire as easily, though he still couldn't use it throughout the match, especially not if he was playing singles. I studied his form as he practiced, watching the flex of muscles ripple across his torso and limbs, and noted that he has bulked up a little since last year. He had grown taller, though he was still shorter than me, and his muscles were more defined now, sleeker, harder.

Unlike Fuji's Tsubame Gaeshi, there's no way for the other side to seal the Tannhäuser because it was a serve. I daresay it was perfect and quite non-returnable. When I played against him, he almost always wins his service games. I'd managed to return his Tannhäuser but only because I'm used to it and because of my speed. The trick is to catch it before it hits the ground because after that, it won't bounce. Of course that is also when the ball is traveling at its fastest; I myself am hard-pressed to catch the exact timing.

"If you ever manage to increase the speed to Ohtori's Scud serve, your Tannhäuser will be virtually unstoppable," I commented as another ball clinked against the fence.

Atobe turned to me, breathing heavily. "I know." He bounced the ball he was holding. "But it takes all of my effort just to get the correct amount of spin in." Tossing the ball up, he inhaled, tensed, concentrated once more.

I watched as the ball spun across the net again.

* * *

"You two planned this from the start," Oshitari stated after our match, which we won of course.

As predicted, we made the Senior Invitational team. When we privately requested the Doubles 1 position, the coach considered for a moment, and then nodded his approval. He had seen our doubles match last year.

This time, our teamwork was flawless from the first stroke and we won easily.

"Ma… How long have you and Atobe-san been practicing together?" Fuji asked me mildly. I merely smiled.

"You and Atobe move well together. Maybe you and Atobe should consider going into a more permanent …partnership," Akaya teased, pushing his curls back with one hand.

"Trying to reduce the competition for singles, Kirihara?" Atobe appeared beside me and tossed me an isotonic drink.

"I don't need to do that," Akaya tossed his head arrogantly. He grinned. "But you and Genichirou look really good together."

"We're not in the same school," I pointed out. I wondered what Akaya was insinuating.

"And of course we were brilliant, it doesn't matter doubles or singles," Atobe said haughtily. His lips curled humorously. "You are awed by our prowess."

Akaya groaned. Echizen strolled away, muttering sullenly about getting juice. Fuji and Oshitari chuckled. Now that was a doubles pair I hadn't been expecting. What was Coach Sakaki thinking?

Their skills overlap enough that I thought it becomes redundant. Still, the two so-called tennis prodigies worked well together, both seemingly laid back and good humored. No sparks though. I think the best double combinations are between two wildly different players, where the strengths of one can cover the weakness of the other. I looked thoughtfully at Atobe — was that why we work well together?

Atobe gave me a quizzical look at my scrutiny but I merely blinked and turned away. It's just the way I am.

I knew he wouldn't be offended, nor would he be expecting an explanation. It's just the way he is.


	4. Chapter 4

**Title:**_El Alma del Tango_

**Author:** Kiarene  
**Pairings:** Sanada / Atobe

**Rating:** G  
**Summary:** No other dance connects two people more closely than the tango.

**Published:** 23rd November 2005  
**Disclaimer: **I would love to own Atobe-sama… and gang… but I don't.

**A/N:** My interpretation of the famous Tezuka zone… grins And, my apologies for the long delay in updating. I already had the story sketched out long ago, but it would figure I have to polish it up is the week before my exam… before I have to hand in my final assignment… I have no time. But I'm bored. Does that make sense? Thanks for the feedback!

_**El Alma del Tango**_

**4th Dance**

It was my second year in high school.

Atobe and I, surprisingly enough, stayed in contact even though we no longer needed to meet up for practice.

We might arrange to meet once in a blue moon, but mostly we kept running across each other. I guess we were more similar than we thought. Atobe would say great minds have the same great taste. And once in a rare while, if I meet up with him on the street courts, we might issue a doubles challenge, for old time's sake. We always won. It was an amusing hobby for us; everyone knew we would never play doubles, except with each other. So whenever we picked up our rackets and strode onto the courts together, even if they had no chance of winning, everyone rushed to pick up our challenge. Atobe and I were always amused.

Atobe was promoted to Hyotei's team captain and he called to me brag that same night. I rolled my eyes but I have to admit it was quite an unprecedented event for Hyotei to choose a second-year captain. Seiichi made vice-captain this year so I suppose I would be vice-captain next year.

However, Atobe had always been in a class of his own. He set new standards and upset old traditions. I heard his successors on the Hyotei Junior High tennis team all have a hard time living up to Atobe's legacy. It wasn't so much the track record of his team, but more his sheer physical presence — he exuded charisma and authority. Akaya called it a 'bucho' aura. While Atobe had been a vice-captain in his second year in junior high, he didn't have — or didn't need — a vice-captain when he rose to captain the following year. Odd, that. I never did get around to asking him the reason.

The usual schools got into the Kantou Finals; Seigaku won the district finals while Hyotei came in second. As a result, the two schools would not have to face each other until the finals, provided they win all of their matches before that. That same afternoon after the ballot, where Atobe went down to represent Hyotei, he messaged me:

Will finally get to beat Tezuka.

I felt a surge of irritation at the message — is he still obsessed with Tezuka? He did talk about playing against Tezuka whenever an opportunity for Hyotei to play against Seigaku arose but somehow, he never got the chance. I haven't heard him mention Tezuka in some time so I thought he would have forgotten this silly fixation.

I called Atobe, reminding him that Tezuka wouldn't be the only challenging player he might be facing. Atobe hummed, agreeing with me, but I got the distinct feeling he wasn't listening.

It got worse from there.

Atobe trained obsessively. If he had trained hard for the district finals, he increased his training workload for the Kantou Finals by at least 50.

He watched all of Tezuka's matches, over and over again. It was all he talked about. It got to a point where I dread his calls, knowing the topic would inevitably drift to Tezuka. He studied the left-handed players and he worried over the so-called 'Tezuka zone'.

"Exceptional players have gotten past it before, like Seigoku, but they relied on excessive power," Atobe said one day. The two of us were seated on the stone benches at the street courts, where some of our team members were fooling around. Atobe and I came down once in a while to observe the other players but we would rather not play, especially not this close to the tournament.

"But is that the only way?" His expression was thoughtful. Mine probably looked bored. "One disadvantage of using excessive power is a reduction on control over the ball. Also, one would tire faster."

I had nothing to say because I never really thought much about Tezuka, except as just another rival to beat in my climb to the top. Tezuka, in my opinion, is good. But not that good. I frowned, leaned back and looked up at the sky. The weather looked like it might rain.

I lolled my head to the side, looking at Atobe.

Unconsciously, Atobe brought his right hand up to his face, splaying his finger in his usual 'Insight' posture. "There must be a weakness to that technique… There must be!"

I turned back to stare at the sky.

* * *

The seats were packed, and there were people seated on the steps and standing outside the fences. It was one of those matches, the kind between two powerhouses that comes once in a blue moon.

Hyotei's Atobe against Seigaku's Tezuka.

Tezuka, the vice-captain for Seigaku, was playing in the Singles 2 slot. Somehow, Atobe knew that and for this tournament, put himself in Singles 2 instead of Singles 1. So far, the score was 2–1, Hyotei having won both doubles games. Seigaku's weakness was always in their doubles, though they had excellent singles players.

A pity, I thought. Having the best singles players is sometimes no use if your doubles teams drag you down. Hyotei learned that the hard way when they lost 3–0 to Fudomine two years back in the district tournaments. By seeding their best player, Tachibana, in Singles 3 instead of Singles 1, Fudomine never gave Hyotei a chance to rally. I realized that as well, when Atobe and I were assigned Doubles 2 in the Junior Invitational Match that year.

We — my team that is — argued about the choice of seating initially; Akaya was rooting for Atobe, while Renji was close friends with Inui from Seigaku. Finally, I made the decision for them and that was why the Rikkadai team was seated next to the white and brown of Hyotei's students.

Akaya made a cheeky face at Renji and then turned towards the court. "Atobe," he yelled. Atobe, who was seated on the bench waiting, turned.

Akaya gave him a cocky grin and made a 'v' sign. Atobe smirked at him, and then, looking at me, gave me a nod before turning his attention back to the court.

"Interesting," Renji said in that quiet creepy way that reminded me of Inui. If he had glasses, he probably would have adjusted them.

"I see what you mean, Akaya." Masaharu grinned.

Having no idea what they were talking about, I ignored them. Akaya's bright green eyes were twinkling cheekily. "Since Genichirou would never stir himself to cheer for Atobe, we should work harder on his behalf, eh?"

"Atobe hardly need the lot of you to cheer for him," I said dryly. Around us, the Hyotei fans were already working themselves into a feverish pitch.

"But Atobe needs you to cheer for him. Ne?" Akaya nodded, grinning to the others. Everyone nodded back. Idiots, all of them.

The two players started off easy, because even though you think you know somebody, you know all his moves and you know what level he plays at; assumption does not equal reality. And too much was at stake here for them to make a mistake simply because they were too hasty. I'd admit I made that mistake with Echizen.

Tezuka served in the first game, a hard fast serve that arced high and dropped suddenly. It was hard to return but Atobe had a fast eye and fast reflexes. There were no fancy moves, no special techniques. Just powerful, fast strokes that rallied back and forth. Basic stuff really, but at the speeds they were going, it was all too easy to miss. Yet their shots remained unerringly accurate.

"Atobe's gotten a lot better in the past couple of weeks," Seiichi noted.

"And very fit too." Bunta popped his gum. "Lookit those cut muscles. Has he been asking Sengoku for hints?"

"Segoku is built but Atobe doesn't have the bulk. He's …sleek," Masaharu drawled in an appreciative voice. "Like a cat, especially when he stretches for the ball." The others nodded. The image of a cat-Atobe flashed in my mind, and I had to admit it was an apt description. Particularly personality-wise.

Tezuka won the first game, though it wasn't a straight win. As Atobe bounced the ball, getting ready for his turn, we all wondered if he would use his Tannhäuser.

"He won't," I said confidently. Not this early in the game, not when it was only the second game. It tired him out too quickly.

"Halfway through the match is best. Not too early than it burns him out, not too late that he doesn't have enough energy for it." Renji nodded.

The ball that Atobe did serve was quite a surprise, and left everyone staring. It wasn't as fast as his Tannhäuser but the ball had a high toque and it still skimmed the ground, almost lazily.

"Like a half-Tannhäuser," Akaya noted. "But he can't use it too often. It's not fast enough; Tezuka will be able to return it if he can catch it before it bounces."

Indeed. Though Tezuka missed the second shot, the element of surprise was lost and his racket was almost there.

"He'll catch it the next time," Masaharu predicted.

And so Tezuka did, but it wasn't a good return and it threw off his timing. Atobe took this point as well.

"It was still a good idea though. I guess it's not as taxing as the Tannhäuser," Seiichi said with a small smile.

As expected, Atobe held his service game. Though Tezuka returned his serve after that, it was nonetheless a tricky serve and Atobe always maintained the advantage of timing.

The score tied at 1–1.

After that, it was as if a switch was thrown and both players went all out. The ball practically ricocheted around the court and we were treated to Tezuka's famous drop shots and Atobe's smashes. The score climbed agonizingly slowly, each point hard-earned, their skills so equal it seemed the match could swing either way.

Suddenly, Akaya leaned forward, frowning. "Doesn't it seem as if Tezuka hadn't been moving?"

"Tezuka-zone!" Somebody blurted out. I narrowed my eyes, studying the tall Seigaku player's techniques carefully. It was an insidious thing; Tezuka controlled the ball so exactly that the opponent had no choice but to return it in a manner that he wanted, and that was back to him. All Tezuka would have to do then was to wait for the opponent to trip up. Most, on realizing their trap, self-destructed and made silly mistakes.

"But Atobe doesn't seem too worried. In fact, he seems to be slowing down," Seiichi noted. "And…"

Tezuka moved, just a step to one side. Everyone's brows shot up.

"How...?" Renji asked wonderingly.

It was very subtle; Tezuka's zone and Atobe's breaking of the zone. Most of the spectators haven't noticed, but many of the more seasoned tennis players were all leaning forward with puzzled looks and excited murmuring.

We continued watching.

Interestingly, the pace of the game seemed to have slowed down. Once in a while, Tezuka would be able to wrest control of the ball and it would seem as if he was drawing further and further inwards until he need not move at all, for the ball would come to him. But Atobe never gave him that final step and Tezuka's control would be broken.

"Game, Atobe. Four games to three!"

Bunta gasped. "Atobe took Tezuka's service game!"

"Till now, they have been held their service games, and it's Atobe's turn to serve next," Hiroshi said quietly.

Akaya grinned broadly. "Something's changed in the wind. Can't you feel?"

I smiled slightly. Yes. Till now, the score has been see-sawing between the two, but now that Atobe took the lead, I'm quite sure the winner was obvious.

"He'll use it this time," I said abruptly.

"What?"

"The Tannhäuser," Seiichi replied. He looked at me. "The timing is right, isn't it?"

Akaya cackled maliciously. "Oh yeah. After just losing his service game, the Tannhäuser will break Tezuka!"

"Akaya…" Seiichi scolded reproachfully.

The next game was fairly predictable. Atobe's Tannhäuser blazed over the nets and the Hyotei fans started chanting. And Atobe, panting hard and all, still managed to strut his usual stuff. Amazing. Even though Tezuka managed to return the last serve, a truly admirable feat for someone who has only faced the Tannhäuser four times, he couldn't catch the momentum after. Atobe held his service.

"5–3," Jackal murmured. "One more game to go. Will Tezuka make a comeback?"

Indeed, that was what the Seigaku crowd was hoping for. One of the cheerleaders, a willowy redhead shrieked and waved her pom-poms madly. "Tezuka-sama! Tezuka-sama!"

"Will somebody tell that harpy to shut up? Kami, some people have no sense of decorum, particular people from Seigaku it seems," Akaya sneered loudly, his eyes leaving no doubt who he was referring to.

"What!" The redhead whirled and pointed at Akaya. "Just you wait! Tezuka-sama will make a grand come-back! He has never been defeated before!"

"Oh yes he has, girl. By Atobe over there." Akaya leaned forward, chin propped on his fists, and smirked maliciously.

"That was because he was injured!" The girl was getting as red as her hair. Her friends beside her were trying to calm her down.

"Akaya," Jackal growled, slapping a hand over Akaya's mouth. Over the years, Jackal has gotten to be pretty effective at containing Akaya. Just cajoling or reasoning with him won't work.

"Oooo….." The girl fumed, and turned her frustration towards more enthusiastic, and shrill, cheering. "TEZUKA–SAMA!"

Everyone winced.

"Maaa… don't' get so worked up, Akaya. She's only a silly cheerleader who doesn't know the game." Bunta grinned, now snacking on a slice of cake. "Look at the Seigaku regulars; they look rather worried."

Akaya snickered evilly. Seiichi shook his head. I rolled my eyes. Inwardly though, I was also chanting with the Hyotei crowd. I never did like Tezuka.

"Here, have some cake." Bunta offered good-naturedly.

"Don't mind if I do." Akaya smiled brightly as he took a bite. "Ooo... delicious!"

"The taste of impending victory?" Masaharu injected slyly.

"Ya, ya!" Akaya nodded, licking his lips.

Renji sighed in disappointment, a rueful smile tugging at his lips. We all knew who the winner would be.

When the players strode back onto the courts, a thrill ran through the crowds. This was going to be the most important game. Atobe held his head high, his smirk confident. He never simply walked, especially not in front of an audience; he strutted and sashayed, proud and elegant. Like a cat, I thought fondly. His head looked up and his eyes caught mine.

I became vaguely aware of Akaya's and Bunta's giggling beside me — probably a sugar overdose.

When Tezuka started drawing the ball in again, we caught our breath, wondering if what Atobe did earlier was just a fluke… But no. Atobe slowed down again, eyes sharp and bright, a faint smile curving his lips.

"Aa," Seiichi breathed softly. He nodded.

"What?"

"You know that Tezuka could seemingly draw the ball to himself because of his excellent control of the ball, right?" Seiichi explained. "In other words; the opponent loses control of the ball."

My eyes widened. "But if the opponent is good enough that he never loses control…" I smiled, grudgingly awed at Atobe's brilliance. "That guy…"

"How?" Bunta asked.

"Remember how Sengoku broke Tezuka's zone before?" I continued crisply. "He did it with sheer power, but the downside is that he loses control of the ball, and in the end, it was still useless. Since the key here is control, all Atobe has to do is to make sure Tezuka never regains full control of the ball."

Not many players are good enough to do that, to have the ball drop exactly where you want it, to have the ball spin just so, each and every single time. Moreover, every time the ball leaves your court, you are handing over control to your opponent; you have no idea what the next shot that comes back at you would be. Sometimes, you only end up scrambling for a shot, lucky if you managed to even return the ball over the net again.

And even for the really good players, players like Seigaku's Oishi and Fuji, who could get the ball to land exactly on the baseline, they can't maintain control of the ball at all times, nor could they keep up the concentration. They could only wait for an opportunity to arise for their finishing shots.

But players like Tezuka and Atobe create those opportunities. With Tezuka, all it takes is one slip by the opponent and the ball control is all his. Can one ensure that every stroke returned is perfect? Difficult.

Atobe, I have realized, is a top player also because of that control. That's how he could win against players stronger, faster or fitter than him. He has a few flashy techniques, but his real skill lay in his basic form. That's why players like Tezuka and Atobe are considered top, all-round players.

"That's why Atobe slows the game down," Seiichi finished for me. "It gives him better control of the game."

Masaharu frowned. "But if he slowed down, wouldn't Tezuka also regain control…?"

Seiichi shook his head. "If you observe Tezuka's zone in action, you would notice that the opponent loses a point not because the game becomes too fast for him but because he has lost control of the ball. He's simply scrambling to return the ball now and it's only a matter of time before he self-destructs."

I nodded. "Tezuka is already in control; the key for Atobe is not to lose his control. The famed Tezuka zone is nothing flashy."

"Just exquisite basic control." Renji, and everyone else, were staring at the two players on the court in admiration.

"A mental game," Akaya whistled. "Damn. That's cruel."

"Atobe must either have incredible mental strength or tenacity," Renji noted in his quiet manner. "Tezuka has been perfecting his game since junior high."

I laughed and the others stared at me. "He really, really wants to win," I explained, shaking my head. "You won't believe how obsessed Atobe is over beating Tezuka. He's been waiting, preparing for this match for two years."

Tezuka may be as good as Atobe; he may even be better, but Atobe would win because Atobe really, really wanted to.

And when the referee announced, "Game and match, Atobe", I wasn't surprised at all.


	5. Chapter 5

**Title:**_El Alma del Tango_

**Author:** Kiarene  
**Pairings:** Sanada / Atobe

**Rating:** G  
**Summary:** No other dance connects two people more closely than the tango.

**Published:** 2nd December 2005  
**Disclaimer: **I would love to own Atobe-sama… and gang… but I don't.

**A/N:** In which Sanda finally, finally gets a clue.

_**El Alma del Tango**_

**5th Dance**

Life pretty much settled down after that, as life often does after an intense tournament season. Atobe never spoke of Tezuka again, at least not in terms of beating him, but instead he looked forward, to other players. Sengoku, Fuji, Kentarou. Having seen the mentioned players in action, I think he was more than a match for them.

Atobe rambled on, wondering if he could beat Echizen, who had gone away to America so nobody could beat him. Well, not for that reason, but it was true that leaving as he did resulted in a lot of dissatisfaction among the players he defeated, myself included.

Grunting, I mentally shook my head. The iron weights clanked rhythmically behind me, my arms burning with the strain. Atobe came over occasionally to use Rikkadai's gym; we may not have as much funding as Hyotei, but we do have extremely good, specialized equipment.

"If you can talk so much," I huffed, "you're obviously not training hard enough."

Atobe snorted in irritation. I smirked — I could feel his annoyance. For a while, I could only hear the metallic clanks of the weights and our panting. I counted the presses: twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty—

Then Atobe started talking again. I rolled my eyes. Granted, he's fairly witty and he has a decent voice, but he talks too much.

"Sanada? Are you listening?"

"Yes, yes." I paused, reached over to readjust the weights to a lower load. "Why do you think Fuji Syuuske, the Prodigy, would eventually quit tennis while his more obscure younger brother would go on to be a pro?"

"Attitudes. While the older undoubtedly has more talent, he—"

Atobe is entirely too good at this. He could go on for hours, analyzing everyone and everything.

* * *

"What's this?" I stared at the two tickets in front of me. My voice echoed in the empty changing room.

"You know what these are," Atobe said impatiently.

"Of course I do," I snapped back. I had been trying to get hold of these tickets ever since I heard that the group was coming to Tokyo but the ones I could afford were sold out almost immediately. And, I tried hard not to peer at the seat numbers, but were those almost front row seats? The cost of those seats did not just come to mind.

It would be just like Atobe to have the tickets. To the concert I'd been dying to see. Which I hadn't told him about.

Atobe sighed, waving the tickets. "I wanted to see the concert and I wanted company." His tone became brisk. "Go home, shower and change. Wear something suitable. I'll pick you up at six."

I was torn between anticipation and annoyance. Did he even ask me if I wanted to see the concert? If I was free? That was Atobe for you.

My eyes returned to the tickets again longingly and I heaved a sigh. Well, it was very nice of Atobe to invite me.

"Anything else?" I asked dryly, suddenly in a good mood.

He eyed my cap distastefully. "Yes. Burn that cap."

Brusque invitation aside, I was looking forward to the concert. After my shower, I stood in front of my wardrobe, clad only in a towel. It was no great chore for me to decide — I had only a few good shirts and pants. Atobe, though… I laughed silently. He was such a clothes horse.

The stray thought that this seemed much like a date ran through my mind when Atobe's limousine drew up outside my house. Atobe came by often enough that my family was used to him and they no longer came outside to gawk at the expansive, expensive car. Now that was embarrassing. I pushed the random thought from my mind and got into the car.

Atobe examined me critically and pronounced my crisp blue shirt and black slacks acceptable, if boring. I eyed Atobe's attire; a crushed silk shirt in soft gray and dark gray pants in some material that shimmered. From his shiny hair to his polished shoes, he shone. I told him bluntly and he preened.

Once, such behavior irritated me. Now, I realized I merely found his habits and little affections quite endearing. There was no one else like Atobe. Well, I thought wryly, if I could put up with Akaya…

The concert hall was packed, but the people were respectfully quiet. When the lights dimmed, I easily forgot about the people around as I was caught up in the music.

The fast-paced Latin music reminded me very much of the concert we attended during our last year in junior high, only this time, we were seated together and not one row apart. I noticed that while I like to close my eyes while listening to the music, Atobe sat upright and alert, eyes bright as they darted around the stage and performers. Atobe told me once he was very much a visual person, and that was why he particularly enjoyed coming to concerts rather than simply listening to the album at home.

I'll have to return this treat, I thought, eyes half-closed as I watched him out of the corner of my eyes. All too often, Atobe's generosity was overlooked because of his wealthy background; just because a person could easily afford the gift doesn't cheapen the thought behind it.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" Atobe asked me as we walked around during the intercession. The foyer had lovely artwork adorning the walls.

"Very much so." I inclined my head in thanks. "Thank you very much."

Atobe waved a hand airily.

Passing an open balcony, we both slowed. A shared glance — perhaps some of the teamwork we cultivated on court extended off the court as well — and we stepped out onto the balcony. The night air was crisp, a fresh welcome after the warm, overly perfumed air indoors.

"The intermission is over," Atobe noted. Indeed, the sounds of people moving about in the corridors behind us were fading. I wasn't sure how long we stood there.

I felt oddly reluctant to move, the mood around us mellow. "Aa."

Atobe gave me a quizzical look, but didn't move. It was quiet, everyone else having gone back into the concert hall. Then, faintly, we could hear the music starting.

"Do you know how to dance the tango?" I asked suddenly, looking down at the other boy. I had undergone a growth spurt a while back, and now stood a half-head taller than Atobe.

Atobe smirked, and placed a hand on my hip lightly. My hand came up to grasp his other hand lightly. We fell into positions perfectly. Somehow, I knew Atobe knew how to tango. It was something I could very well imagine him doing.

Atobe laughed, clear and bright. "My, Sanada. I didn't know you knew…"

My lips quirked. I moved his hand from my hip to my shoulder, and the rested my hand firmly on his hip instead. "I'll lead."

Atobe looked startled, and then he laughed again. As one, we started moving. Lively steps back and forth, our movements perfectly in harmony, feet tapping softly on the tiled floor. The music swelled in my head; the faint tune we could hear from the concert hall was a familiar standard.

"Your hands are cold," I commented, rubbing his hand that was clasped in mine. He was smaller than me, slim and lithe. It was hard to believe his slender frame could hit such powerful shots.

"I'm warming up now," Atobe said breathily, cheeks pinking lightly from the brisk dance. His hair swung lightly as he moved, his eyes bright as they peered up at me.

I had taken lessons before, but I never danced well. It had always felt a little stiff, a little awkward. Until now…

I spun him around, the music twirling around us. When he twisted back into my arms, my hand slipped from his hip to the small of his back. He allowed me to dip him, his leg sliding up along my outer thigh as he leaned back, trusting that I wouldn't let him fall.

When the song ended, we stood there, looking at each other, hands lingering on shoulders and hips. "Let's go in," I said softly, keeping a hand at the small of his back as I led him into the warm building. "…Keigo."

Keigo looked at me, eyes searching, and then he smiled.

* * *

"Good match," Keigo noted. He tossed me a can of isotonic drink.

"Thanks." I caught the still cold can and placed it on the ledge. Picking up my towel, I wiped my face. Familiar faces littered the gray concrete seats that ringed the street courts, many were Regulars from other school teams. From the other court, I could hear the steady twacks of another match. Just another Sunday afternoon, and the street courts were packed.

I inclined my head as I popped the can. "So, who's playing on the other courts?"

Keigo looked up quizzically at Ohtori, who was seated a couple of seats higher. The light-haired boy stood up obediently and peered over to the next court. "Tezuka and Oishii from Seigaku."

"Aa." I glanced at Keigo. "I supposed you would want to watch?"

Keigo shrugged, looking bored. "Doesn't matter either way."

I raised a brow. "It's Tezuka…"

"So?" Keigo stood up. "Oh all right. Since there's nothing else better to watch."

I followed, frowning. Our team mates got up as well, chattering about Seigaku.

I should be happy Keigo has forgotten all about Tezuka, but for some reason, his disinterest unsettled me. Atobe had been so obsessed with Tezuka for years, but after beating him, that fixation just fizzled. It was… unsettling.

"Keigo," I began. He half-turned his head quizzically.

Then we were at the next courts and momentarily distracted by the activity, I forgot what I was going to say.

"Sorry, nothing." I shook my head. A pause. I remembered something else. "Keigo, are you free for dinner later? My treat, for the concert tickets."

Keigo smiled easily. "Sure."

* * *

"So. What's up with you and Atobe?" Akaya asked me bluntly a few days later.

I ignored him. Yelled at the second years to run another five rounds. Glanced over to the regulars to make sure…

"Don't you all have practice?"

"Done" Masaharu chirped. "We won six–four," Renji added. Bunta and Jackal looked disgruntled.

"You haven't answered my question, Genichirou," Akaya repeated.

"Nothing," I said flatly. It had been quiet last year, when Akaya was still in Junior High and the rest of us had graduated to High School. Of course I knew it wouldn't last, but I had been hopeful.

The other regulars were pretending to be looking away but doing a bad job of it. "Did you lose a bet, Akaya?"

"Yeah…" Akaya looked sheepish, then his smile turned sly. "But that's because everyone is curious about you and Atobe."

I ignored him again.

"You two seem very close," Bunta noted. Everyone nodded.

"We're good friends," I said, aware only after I opened my mouth that I was falling right into their trap.

"Classic denial," Renji murmured. Everyone nodded again.

"But you want to be more, right?" Akaya crowed, pointing a finger at me. "Can't blame you; Atobe is damn hot."

My hand clenched around my racket.

"You know you can always ask us for help," Seiichi said softly, grinning. I then decided that the first years were slacking off in their drills and walked off.

"If you don't want Atobe, can I have him?" Akaya yelled after me. And then he broke out laughing.

* * *

Although I knew Akaya was teasing me, his question disturbed me. When I realized just how such an insinuation would disturb me, what those idiots were implying…

That I wanted Keigo.

I couldn't think about it; my brain just shut down. The idea, the thought of it—

—it was scary and something just not done and those idiots were just making fun of me—

—but yet it brought to mind tantalizing, scandalous thoughts of what being with Atobe might be like—

I cleared my thoughts, changed into my gi and mediated until my knees and ankles ached from kneeling on the floor. I had hoped to clear my mind, but it had the opposite effect. With nothing to distract me, all I could think about was that infuriating boy.

The moonlight slanting into my room reminded me of the glint off Keigo's purplish-silvery hair, the way the fine strands flew up as I twirled him—

I closed my eyes in frustration. Listened to the slow inhale and exhale of my breath, concentrating on—

—the draw of his husky voice, sure and cultured. We spent the many hours discussing music or Japanese literature or tennis; he was arrogant but no doubt brilliant—

Sighing and knowing meditation was futile, I stood up and crossed my room. I picked up my katana and swung it, over and over again. Needed the mindless exertion and wanted to feel the burn of muscle. Much like tennis.

Do I want Keigo that way?

Unbidden, my thoughts drifted back to him again.

The night air was cold and I was shivering. The exertion was hard enough to raise a fine sheen of sweat, but hardly enough to keep me warm as the chill air blew over my damp skin.

I don't know.

I… I'll just take it one day at a time. If we….

My mind stuttered to a stop when my cell phone rang. I laid my katana back on the stand and strode across the room. Flipping my phone open, I stared down at the display. Keigo!

"Hope I'm not disturbing you Genichirou."

"…ah, not at all," I stuttered. Suddenly, I felt nervous.

"Sorry, I just had a bath and was about to sleep when—"

You didn't have to tell me that detail, I thought. I do not need that image right now.

"—I realized that we never did finish our match. Do you want to meet up on the street courts this weekend?"

Actually, no. For some reason, I didn't feel like it. I don't think I would be up to facing Keigo anytime soon. If ever at all. "It won't be an official match," I told him, thinking frantically for an excuse.

"I don't mind."

I clutched the phone, silent.

"Genichirou?"

My mind was blank. "….ok."

Keigo's voice was warm. "Great. I'll see you then, 4 o'clock."

Long after Keigo hung up, I was still staring at the wall. Then I slapped myself.

Idiot!


	6. Chapter 6

**Title:**_El Alma del Tango_

**Author:** Kiarene  
**Pairings:** Sanada / Atobe  
**Rating:** G  
**Summary:** No other dance connects two people more closely than the tango.  
**Published:** 7th December 2005  
**Disclaimer: **I would love to own Atobe-sama… and gang… but I don't.

**A/N:** Game, set, match. Last chapter!

_**El Alma del Tango**_

**6th Dance**

By the time Sunday came around, I was a nervous wreak. I didn't think I would be able to play my best, as mentally troubled as I am now, but backing off wasn't an option. Keigo would ask why... and I was not ready to say yet. If ever.

The question "how could this have happened" kept circling in my mind. I had never felt any sort of interest in any girl, or boy, before. I'd never thought about anything but tennis... and music… No time for messy relationships. I like Japanese classics too.

All of which are connected to Keigo. He's always there, a constant. I feel more comfortable with him than with any of the girls I know, and yet, my relationship with Keigo is not like the friendships I have with my teammates; he's in a different category on his own. Maybe it is… but I am not even sure if what I feel for Keigo is, well, something more-than-and-not-quite-friendship or not.

I arrived at the outdoor courts, cap pulled low and face blank, mind whirling round and round like a dog chasing its tail. To my horror, my teammates were there. Bunta caught sight of me first and waved. The whole group turned to grin cheekily at me.

"What the hell are you all doing here?" I barked rudely.

Akaya pointed a thumb behind him. "Oshitari called me."

I looked behind him. The entire Hyotei team beamed back at me.

"Please tell me Seigaku or Fudomine isn't here as well."

"Do you think I should call them?" Yukimura asked with a straight face.

"Hell, no!" I stomped off towards the courts, knowing there really was no way for me to stop the others from watching. Knowing that there really was no good reason for me to feel so touchy as well.

Keigo wasn't here yet so I got out my racket and started a few rallies at the practice wall to warm up. I was just working up a light sweat when I heard footsteps around me. Without thinking, I took a step to the side. A thwack behind me, and the ball flew past my shoulder.

Keigo stepped up beside me, racket held low. "How did you know it was me?" He sounded like he already knew the answer.

"I could tell."

The ball now alternated between us. Keigo didn't say anymore, but for some reason, he had a pleased look on his face. I guess he must be happy he was finally going to play a long-time rival.

I faltered mid-step.

Rival. Was that all he saw me as?

The ball sailed past me, crashing into the chain fence behind with a rattle. Before I could turn, Keigo was already there, scooping up the ball with his racket. He gave me a quizzical look. "Enough warm-up?"

"Yeah," I said quickly. "You?"

Keigo nodded. We walked over to the courts in silence. At the furthermost courts, our teams were looking very friendly and chummy. Keigo looked pleased with himself. Overall, the atmosphere was relaxed. Even festive. The boys chattered. Somebody popped a drink can.

If they start breaking out snacks though, I will send them a ball or two.

"Would you like to serve first, Gennichirou?" Keigo called out.

I shrugged. Bounced the ball, and served it. For the first few minutes, we rallied back and forth, but my mind wasn't wholly on the game and it showed. First point went to Keigo when I dropped an easy point. After I retrieved the ball, I turned to look at Keigo, who was frowning slightly, mouth twisted, eyes searching worriedly…. and disappointed.

Suddenly, I felt angry at myself. I accepted Keigo's inivitation to a match and I should be playing my best. To daydream like this was a show of disrespect to Keigo. And that look of faint disappointment; it speared me. I never want to see him look at me like that. Clenching my racket tightly, I took a deep breath and centered myself.

When I next served, I didn't hold anything back. Keigo looked surprised at the sudden change in game tempo, which quickly changed to a grin. The intensity rose quickly from there. The points climbed evenly between us; it was a very close match.

Facing Keigo across the net brought forth a host of conflicting thoughts. I realized that more than just playing a match wtih Keigo, I wanted to give my very best. To impress him, to show Keigo that I was worthy.

I remembered how obsessed Keigo had been with Tezuka, and I realized I wanted Keigo to look at me instead with those eyes. To chase only me. To only look at me.

But Keigo only chased Tezuka because he viewed Tezuka as a rival, because he hadn't been satistified with the previous outcome of their match. I did not want that — I want Keigo to see me as a rival...

I want Keigo to see me as his only rival.

I want Keigo to see me as more than his rival.

The ball crisscrossed the court blisteringly. My cap was sodden and Keigo's face was heavily flushed, his bangs damp and curling. I couldn't keep my eyes off him. I reached for the ball automatically, but my eyes were always drawn back to him. Keigo is beautiful, and when he plays all out like this, his lithe body stretching for the ball, every stroke calculated and elegant, he never looked more perfect. The fierce look in his eyes and the sharp smile on his lips, the intense concentration, yes, I want all that.

I want to give my all. But...

But if I beat Keigo, will he only see me as a rival? As someone to beat in his quest for perfection?

The ball slammed into the chain fence with a loud rattle. "Five-all. Change courts."

Panting heavily, I walked towards the bench in a daze. As this was only a friendly match, we simply left our stuff on the same bench. Someone tossed me a cold drink, and I downed it with relief.

Looking at Keigo, I thought; and if Keigo won, will he move on? I remembered what happened after he defeated Tezuka and a chill ran through me. He never looked at Tezuka with those serious eyes again.

What should I do?

I don't want to beat Keigo... but I don't want to lose either. I...

Dimly, I heard the referee's call to return to play. Without thinking, I reached out and grasped his wrist. "Keigo."

He turned to look at me, puzzled.

I suddenly felt extremely stupid.

"Yes?" He cocked his head, studying me intently.

"I..." I stared at him, not knowing what to say. How to explain myself. Keigo waited patiently, a worried look growing on his face.

"I can't play on."

"Why?" He looked alarmed. "Did you injure yourself?"

"No," I said slowly. "I just think... I can't finish my match with you."

"What! Why?" Keigo exclaimed in sudden anger. He wrenched his hand out of my grip violently. "Explain yourself! Is it because you think you've won the game already?"

"No!" Panicked, I grabbed his hands again, both hands. "It's because I don't want this to be over!"

"Because you don't want... what to be... over?" Keigo looked shocked.

"I don't want you to look at me only a rival. But I don't want to be discarded like Tezuka as well," I said hurriedly. At the back on my mind, I knew I wasn't making sense at all. But Keigo was always very smart, and I could see comprehension growing in his eyes.

"Did you think that—"

"Keigo." My cheeks grew warmer, my voice hoarse and gruff. I had been refusing to admit to the obvious until it was right in front of me.

"Shut up."

And I pulled him close, wrapping my arms around him and kissed him. Full on his soft lips, wet and hot and utterly perfect. After a moment, Keigo kissed back enthusiastically. Our rackets clattered to the ground.

Dimly, I heard a roaring noise. Then I registered Keigo's hands pushing me away, gently but insistently. Reluctantly, I broke the kiss.

"As much as I would like to explore this further, I do believe it's currently a little too public..."

I finally look up, and oh hell.

I had forgotten all about the spectators.

"You didn't notice more people watching as our match progressed?" Keigo tried to sound casual but it was hard when I was still wrapped around him.

Someone gave a very shrill whistle.

"Uh, maybe you should let me go?" Keigo's cheeks were darkening.

I stepped back but did not release him completely, swearing heavily. "Do you think we can escape them?"

"Not a chance."

Holding his hand firmly, I had but one thought on my mind. I caught his eye and nodded.

And the two of us ran helter-skelter from the courts in the direction away from the crowd, crashing through the bushes. We ran like children, laughing hysterically, through the bushes and across pavements and lawns, until we were out of breath. Slowing down and wheezing, we realized we had run until the canal. We walked in silence for a while, my hand still holding his.

"I never saw you as Tezuka," Keigo said suddenly.

I looked askance at him. "What do you mean?"

He turned his head, staring incredulously. "I can't believe you didn't realize! I don't go out for coffee and hang around discussing classic Japanese poetry with rivals. I don't invite them out for a concert, and I sure as hell wouldn't dance with them." He gestured wildly, voice rising. "Gennichirou, I don't even call Tezuka by his first name!"

"Oh." I blinked.

"Oh indeed," Keigo said waspishly. Then he smirked. "But your jealousy was cute."

"I was not—!"

"I suppose it's good you're possessive," Keigo went on, tone musing.

"What?"

"Kiss me again," Keigo demanded. Feeling a little aggravated, I leaned across and kissed him hard.

"Well, maybe," I admitted when we pulled apart again. This time, I slid my arm around his lower back, keeping one hand on his hip.

Keigo leaned into me with a satisfied purr. "But we really must do something about your cluelessness. And this."

Almost idly, he reached up, plucked off my cap and dropped it in a trashbin. I was about to yell at him when he smiled back, catching me off-guard.

"Keigo." My eyes narrowed. "Shut up."

And I leaned down to kiss him again.

* * *

** End **

**

* * *

**

**Omake**

"What are you going to tell them?" Keigo asked, We were lying down on the grass beside the canal. The sun was setting, painting the sky a hazy orange-blue. The air was very quiet, missing the usual bustle of rush-hour traffic on weekdays.

"I'm trying hard not to think about that." I closed my eyes, enjoying the cooling breeze. "What about you?"

"I don't have to explain myself," Keigo said haughtily.

"Good idea." I grinned.

"Gennichirou."

"Hm?"

"They're holding your racket hostage."

"…damn," I swore. "Hey, what about yours?"

I could feel his shrug. "I've plenty."

"…"

A bicycle went past on the path above us, bell tinkling.

"Keigo?"

"Ah?'

"Buy me a racket."

* * *

Feedback is worshipped!

* * *


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